


Dance of the Alban Eilir

by ironwoodsfairy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pagan Festival, Dancing, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23762134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironwoodsfairy/pseuds/ironwoodsfairy
Summary: When the spring equinox arrives, Bellamy and Clarke know just how to celebrate - by taking part in an ancient pagan festival.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39
Collections: bellarkescord easter exchange





	Dance of the Alban Eilir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slyth_princess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slyth_princess/gifts).



> This little piece was written for Ali (slyth_princess) for the Bellarkescord Easter Exchange. Happy Spring!!

A laugh escaped Bellamy’s chest as he plopped down across from Clarke on the bench, two rosewater wines in hands and a crown of forget-me-nots on his head. In the shade of the wooden pavilion, tendrils of her hair had been picked up by the soft afternoon breeze and deposited on her latest treat of the day - a hot cross bun. Most of the golden strands caught on the quarter decorated for the element of air, tangling with the grey and white sprinkles, and she couldn’t keep the look of irritation from her face as her bite was so rudely interrupted.

Bellamy reached a hand towards her face. “I got it.” With a twist of his hand, he pulled her hair from her lips and tucked it behind her ear, and she smiled gleefully, her cheeks protruding like a chipmunk.

He snorted again and took a sip of his wine as he held Clarke’s out to her. “Tasty?”

Nodding furiously, she took her drink from his hand. “Extremely. Here.” She turned the bun so the orange and red sprinkles faced away from her and held it to his mouth where she was met with eagerness.

Around them flowed the sounds of chatter, laughter, and music in the unnaturally warm spring day that felt more like the beginning of summer. The scent of bonfire smoke and freshly baked bread filled the air, and braided between them was the smell of flowers of every kind, wafting about from where they twisted in great vines up the pillars of the pavilion and vendors’ stalls alike. Almost everyone wore some vision of otherworldly, flowing attire as they stepped from puddle to puddle of tree-filtered sunlight, and flower crowns were seen in abundance to welcome in the new season. Several rings and lines of guests formed along the edges of the pavilion as they danced, while others chose to sway softly on the sidelines, but everywhere were smiles and joy. 

Clarke passed the bun to Bellamy to finish and wiped her mouth. Hopping off of the bench, she turned around and settled down again, tucked herself into his chest, and sipped on her wine. Bellamy pressed a smile to her temple beneath her crown of sunflowers and roses and wrapped his arms around her waist, gently rocking her to the music as she examined the blue leather sketchbook she’d purchased from one of the vendors and he peered into _A History of Ostara_ where it lay open on the same table they had carved their initials into almost four and a half years ago.

A few songs later, Clarke stirred in Bellamy’s arms. “Do you remember our first date here?”

Bellamy hummed, flashes of orange and black bursting in his mind like stars, the sound of howls and raven calls dancing at the edge of his memory. “Samhain Festival, one of our first dates at all.” He pulled her tighter against him. “Of course I remember.”

She tilted her head back as she tried to look him in the eyes. “And do you remember what I asked you to do?

Bellamy leaned back and laughed as Clarke quite nearly jumped off of the seat and extended her hand to him.

“You want _me_ . To _dance_.” His head was cocked and a teasing smile had taken over his face. It was a statement, not a question.

She tried to pout but failed miserably, and opted instead for that rare innocent facade that she knew without fail would always get him. “Please, Bell? You know you get good at it after a few turns.” She twirled, her white cotton dress spinning in the air while she relished the feeling. It had been so long since she’d been able to wear one, but _finally_ all the warm days were here. “And you know you love me.”

With a theatrical sigh, Bellamy downed the last of his drink and set their glasses on the table, quickly tucking their purchases into his bag. He took her hand in his, a goofy grin plastered over his face. “I love you. And I will dance, but only for you, Princess.”

*

A group of new couples had formed where most of the dancing was taking place, awaiting any sort of guidance before they were thrust into unknown territory as an older woman with greying hair stood from where the musicians played and tucked her fiddle under her arm. 

“Everyone, form two lines! Those who are fair haired, stand facing me, and those who are dark hair stand turned away from me. If your honey is on the opposite side, stand across from them. If they are on the same side, find another couple to stand across from.” She paused as all the pairs sorted themselves out, more akin to shuffling ducks than two-legged humans.

When they had settled, she spoke again, her voice high and clear. “This is the Dance of Alban Eilir, an ancient Gaelic term for ‘Light of the Earth.’ On this day, darkness and light are in balance, and to this balance do we dance!” 

Clarke and Bellamy smiled at each other as couples throughout the line cheered before the woman continued, giving them basic instructions for the dance. Clarke could barely stifle a giggle at the look of pure befuddlement on Bellamy’s face as he pulled on the loose sleeves of his shirt that reminded her giddily of a pirate.

The woman clasped her hands together when she concluded. “Now, I understand that might seem like a lot, but I promise you will be alright. Follow those who seem to know what they are doing and have fun! Some toes are bound to be stepped on, but this is part of the joy.” She took a step back towards her seat and lifted her fiddle to her shoulder. “Is everyone ready?”

More cheers erupted from the crowd, and Clarke’s flew to the wind alongside them, while Bellamy remained home to a look of joyous confusion. Then, the music rose, and the lines moved.

*

Intertwining one hand between them, Clarke and Bellamy rested their forearms together and began to circle one another slowly. Bellamy tried to stifle a laugh as his cheeks burned, uncomfortable in his own sense of embarrassment and yet incredibly _willing_ , all the same, to dance with the woman he loved.

At the change of music, their arms slipped together to hook at the elbow and they changed direction. With each step, Clarke could both see and feel the tension leave Bellamy’s body as he found his footing and relaxed into the dance’s ever quickening tempo. Soon, he was laughing along with her.

The song changed again, and with the sound of the flute that was reminiscent of a bumblebee in flight, they followed along, trailing after the more experienced dancers. Now they clasped their hands together and spun with force, their loose clothing catching the breeze and sailing around them, their toes digging into the dirt for purchase and anchoring them for the year to come, their eyes latched onto nothing but each other. 

Suddenly, all instruments fell away but the drum, and the lines formed clearly again as the dancers drew apart and formed a tunnel with their arms. Beneath them ran two people, a pair embodying the dark and the light, before drawing up at the end of the line. Except… except neither Bellamy nor Clarke knew that. Not really. Because there between them, with their fingers interlaced, their breath short, their eyes darkening more and more with each gasp, and their garments clinging to patches of sweat just beginning to gather on their bodies, nothing else existed. Nothing else mattered.

And then with the tune of the fiddle, the dance began again.

*

Together they spun and twirled, melting into the music, the earth, and each other. Hands intertwined, they performed the dance again and again and again until it was their turn to move through the tunnel. At the silence of all instruments but the drum, Clarke leapt from the line with Bellamy in tow, except this time, her foot found a hole instead of solid earth.

With a yelp she threw her hands out in front of her to brace her fall, but Bellamy’s arm shot out and found its way around her waist before she made contact with the ground, her name escaping his lips with a hoarse shout. 

The drummer faltered and the crowd gasped, and immediately the old woman with the fiddle was on her feet and heading towards them. By the time she arrived, Clarke was seated firmly on the grass with her crown of flowers beside her, and her ankle was sending sparks of white hot pain along her leg. Bellamy’s words were calming, but his voice was low and tinged with concern as he examined her. Feeling the stares of the dancers around her, Clarke cheeks reddened as she tried not to cry, a reaction that was followed by a spike of anger underneath the pain. 

“Sweetie, are you alright?” The woman knelt down on the ground and looked at Clarke’s ankle where it now lay in Bellamy’s hand.

Clarke nodded briskly and took a deep breath to clear the blooming white spots from her vision and the ringing from her ears as Bellamy’s jaw worked with worry, his eyes flitting from her ankle to her face. “I just need a moment, but I’m okay.”

“Of course, of course.” She eyed Bellamy, before turning back to Clarke. “Would you like to finish the dance? Your honey here looks strong enough to carry you through the tunnel.”

Clarke laughed despite the pain. “He certainly could!” She looked at her ankle, flexed her toes, and hissed quietly.

Bellamy half scoffed, half snorted at her comment, but the uneasiness etched in brows refused to dissipate. Still, she watched as he set his shoulders, a telltale sign that he had made a decision.

“I’d be more than happy to carry you through the tunnel, m’lady, so long as you promise to take a break afterwards.” Down on one knee, he bent at the waist and held the arm not supporting her leg out wide.

Clarke looked at him, watched the sweat drying along his neck, his dark curls wild in the falling sunlight, the blue flowers in his hair - and all her anger and embarrassment vanished. Instead, she laughed at his antics around the warm knot in her chest and nodded.

The woman rose off of the ground and clapped, and soon the other dancers did too. “Wonderful! These two will complete the tunnel and then go rest.”

Bellamy plucked Clarke’s crown from the grass and readjusted it atop her hair. Gingerly, he lifted her off the ground and into his arms, one beneath her back and one under her knees. With her arms looped safely around his neck, Bellamy pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and began moving through the newly formed tunnel as the drum sang and the dancers whistled and cheered.

Clarke lay her head on his shoulder and laughed, entirely comfortable in his arms despite the physical discomfort in her ankle. Above her, the glowing sunlight was repeatedly blocked by the dancers’ arms, like trees along a wooded road.

As quickly as they entered the tunnel, they had departed. Bellamy straightened to his full height and turned around, smiling broadly at the group as Clarke waved goodbye. They watched as the dance began anew.

Bellamy turned slightly to shield her from the sun. “You doing alright?”

Clarke could hear the concern in his voice even as he tried desperately to sound lighthearted.

“I’ll be okay. Promise.” She smiled, pretending not to feel the ache.

He grimaced but nodded, seeing through her words to the truth, and held her body tighter against his own. “Where do you want to sit down?”

She looked up at him, the sky a halo of light around his head. Behind him stood an ancient gnarled oak at the far edge of the field where it met the forest, a primordial sentry with limbs heavy in leaves and vines. 

She nodded towards it. “How about over there?”

Bellamy followed her gaze before smiling down at her wordlessly, and the affection Clarke found in his eyes made her breath catch in her throat.

He stepped carefully across the expanse of the field, mindful of the jostling she was experiencing with every movement as the music and laughter faded far behind them, as though each new step carried them into a world entirely their own. Clarke languidly watched their shadows walk beside them like guides from another dimension, watched the tall grasses brush against Bellamy’s knees as they approached the boundary of the forest, watched the birds that flew from their buried nests and the grasshoppers that leapt from their hideaways and into the hazy golden light as she nuzzled her cheek into Bellamy’s shoulder.

*

Bellamy dropped down to a knee and set Clarke gently at the base of the great oak, then settled beside her as she took his hand in her lap and played with his fingers.

“Thank you for dancing with me.”

“Thank you for asking me to dance.” He turned to look at her, concern still carved into his brow. 

“It’ll be worse tomorrow, so for now it’s fine” she sighed, reaching up to tug softly on his chin. An old endearment. “Sorry I put a damper on the mood.”

Bellamy scoffed and turned to face her fully. “You can never put a damper on my mood.” His hand reached for her jaw, and she kissed his palm when she met it. “You never have, and you never will.” He sighed at the touch and focussed his eyes on her fully. “You are my sunlight, Clarke. Always.”

Clarke felt her heart flutter in her chest, a flame and a bird and a song all at once. No matter their time together, the months or the years, his effect on her never dissipated, and she hoped it never would.

Tilting her head towards him, Clarke welcomed Bellamy’s soft lips on hers, gentle as a rose and light as a feather. Her hand mirrored his, resting at the junction between neck and shoulder as his slipped further beneath her hair, cradling her head. He let her lead, let her deepen the kiss, let her tug on his curls before he returned the favor. Clarke found herself pushing Bellamy back against the rough oak before shuffling into his lap, ignoring what pain burst within her ankle like starlight - present, but far, far away. He dipped his head and set alight a stripe of kisses along her neck, dropped his hands to knead at her hips and backside, felt the soft sighs whispering from her throat beneath his tongue.

Around them the birds sang, eager to settle down with the setting of the sun that nearly set ablaze the tall grasses around them. Clarke found their shadows again, lovers nestled upon the earth as the lines that separated him from her and her from him disappeared entirely in the shifting darkness of their forms.

His hands slowly slid under her dress and up her thighs, aching to touch her as his fingertips asked the question he need not coax into words, and Clarke replied with a searing kiss that stole the air from his lungs.

He knew her well after their years together, her mind and body an empyrean landscape he’d mapped long ago, one that intoxicated him with uncountable new discoveries. He knew where and how to touch her, what to whisper in her ear, what near animalistic sounds to release from his own throat as she sobbed in pleasure above him. He knew just what she needed as she fumbled with the ties of his trousers, just how to maneuver her further into his lap so she could take him to the hilt with a gasp, just how to move inside of her to release them both together. 

Looking up with hooded eyes and an ache in his freckled cheeks as they fixed their clothing, Bellamy drank in the sight of her. With her lioness hair curling wildly about her face, her crown of roses and sunflowers upon her head, and dirt smudged on her cheek and knees, Clarke Griffin was a goddess bedecked in golden sunlight, queen of the very divine themselves. 

“Clarke.” It was a whisper. A prayer.

She watched him, eyes glittering. With her thumbs along his jaw and her fingertips in his hair, she kissed him again, but this time it was soft.

“Clarke, I-”

Another kiss, the stealing of breath like a dove’s wing against the surface of the earth. He knew the act of gentle silencing when he felt it, and allowed her to speak first.

“I love you, Bellamy Blake.” 

He smiled softly, the phrase never relinquishing its grip on his heart.

“I love you more than anything. I would give you anything. I wish I could give you all of our yesterdays, before we met, but I know that I can give you today and-” she paused, blinking away the wetness in her eyes and strengthening herself with a breath against the hint of trepidation that had rooted somewhere inside her - “and I promise to give you all of my tomorrows, if you’ll let me. I will stand by you through every joy and every sorrow, every beautiful day and every painful one, and every other one in between, if you’ll have me.” She reached a hand into the small pocket of her dress, and when she opened it, upon her palm lay the plain silver band that had belonged to her father.

*

Bellamy sat motionless, his eyes on the ring and his jaw unhinged.

“Bell, will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

Slowly, he raised his eyes to hers, to the woman who had become his home, his anchor in the storm, his sin and his repentance. When he tried to speak, he found no voice in his throat, and in an instant tears formed in his eyes. 

Instead, he did the only thing he knew she would understand without a shadow of a doubt hanging over her head at the lack of his words. 

Reaching for his bag where he set it by the tree, he fished through it until his hand closed around the small velvet box he had been carrying for weeks, looking for the right time, hoping that time would be today.

At the sight of the box in his hand, Clarke’s eyes went wide and she covered her mouth, sitting down further on his legs as her mind fought to process what was happening, that _this_ was happening.

Bellamy tried to clear his throat to speak, but a laugh escaped instead as fresh tears slipped down his face.

Finally, his body caught up to his emotions and he could breathe again. 

“Clarke Griffin. I will marry you, but only if you do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

As he opened the small box that had protected the treasure inside for several long years, the last of the Ostara sunlight glinted off of his mother’s golden ring as the stars in the sky began to whisper their existence overhead.

Bellamy watched as the last drop of wariness in Clarke’s expression melted away, and instead there blossomed a warmth that nearly stole his breath yet another time. Then, the answer he had only dreamt of, only thought was possible in the words passed down from generation to generation in the tales of old, of mortal men and their divine lovers, spilled from her lips-

“ _Yes_.”

Bellamy took Clarke’s face in his hands and kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her, carrying with them the promise of a hundred difficult days, a thousand more beautiful ones, and a million more _I love you_ ’s.


End file.
